by Poppy Dunne
“But you haven’t gotten to the best part,” Scott says when I throw the pictures onto my desk. I ball my hands into fists.
“Why don’t you enlighten me, Scott? I’m not into your voyeuristic obsession with my sex life.”
“My instincts are impeccable,” he says conversationally. He crosses his arms, and Brad copies him exactly. Aw, he wants to be a big man just like his daddy. “I thought I’d get a few pictures for security purposes. Leverage has so many uses, but then.” He hums deep in his throat. “Then you got John involved.”
I do not recommend having every muscle in your body simultaneously contract and disintegrate. It feels like getting your dick caught in an electrical outlet. Do not ask how I know that. I was a painfully stupid six-year-old.
And apparently I haven’t smartened up since.
I don’t have to ask Scott what he means; I flip to the last few photos, and see Tessa meet up with John outside the coffee shop. They shake hands, and he beckons her inside.
No. Please no.
“I don’t suppose you’d accept that as a massive coincidence.” I’m trying to grin, trying to look like I don’t give a shit.
“When I saw those pictures, I realized that your little affair might have more sinister, far-reaching implications. I called Daniel; he was very interested in what his idiot son was up to.” Scott shakes his head, like he’s disappointed. “We’re not sure what we ever did to make you boys so resentful.”
“Apart from being actual supervillains but with worse hair, I can’t imagine,” I deadpan. Scott’s eyes narrow fractionally.
“That’s the kind of talk that’s going to make Tessa’s life so difficult, Rafe. Shame on you. It’s one thing to fuck your assistant, an entirely other thing to trick her into being an accessory to your crime.”
Then Scott takes out the pièce de résistance: my white zip drive. He tosses it casually onto my desk. Meanwhile, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand up again. What did they threaten John with? Christ, what if they hurt him? I wouldn’t put it past Daniel, or Scott. Brad shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet, as if buzzing with uncontainable excitement.
“I got you now, you little bastard.” Scott says it like the most pleasant endearment. “Hacking’s a crime, Rafe.”
“I finally get to find out if I look good even in an orange jumpsuit.” Cracking my knuckles, I lean back in my office chair. I will not give these two motherfuckers the satisfaction of seeing me panic.
“No.” Scott says it firmly. “Daniel was clear about that. It’s no year to cause a scandal. Something like this could touch the whole dynasty; unlike you, a bastard interloper, family is something that matters to us real McCarthys.”
“Do you practice that speech in the mirror every morning? At least wait until there’s a convenient flash of lightning behind you. Makes the moment so much more dramatic.” Fuck me, but I don’t know how or when to shut up. Scott’s mouth twitches, while Brad snorts.
“If you don’t care about yourself, Rafe, you might care about your assistant.” Scott looks as if he’s weighing his word choice. “Assistant. Whore. Either works.”
That’s the magic shot in the ass I needed. Finally on my feet, I knock the pictures onto the floor. Brad, like a good errand boy, curses and stoops to pick them up. “You don’t get to talk about her like that,” I growl, fury vibrating through me.
“I get to do whatever the fuck I like,” Scott replies. A blonde flash of movement appears over his shoulder through my office window. Tessa’s returning, a tray of Starbucks balanced in her hand. There’s a bounce in her step. She thinks all’s right with the world.
I let her down in the worst way, and all because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. Because I wanted her more than I cared about protecting her.
Now she’s going to see how hard I’ve fucked the both of us.
“Oh! Hello?” She blanches when she opens the door and finds the Antichrist and Son waiting for her. Brad takes the coffees, and hands over the photos with a flick of his wrist. I see her eyes land on the first one, and her shoulders slump. She rocks back on her heels; if I didn’t know her better, I’d swear she was about to faint. Cursing, I stride around the desk and snatch the pictures away. With Brad, Scott, and now Tessa and me all congregated together, it’s like the world’s worst group hug is about to break out.
“You don’t have to look at these,” I tell her, glaring at Brad over the top of her head. He’s running his gaze up and down her body, his oily imagination clearly working overtime. If I find out he jerked off to these photos, I’m going to tie him to my body and then jump off the roof of the building.
“I think she should be aware of how involved she is.” Scott slides his hands into his pockets and gives Tessa a paternal look. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Daddy’s going to demonstrate how and where you fucked up.”
I reach for Tessa, ready to hold her against me and offer some protection, but she sidesteps away. Her body is hunched; she’s protecting herself.
You know. Doing the job I failed to do.
Right then, I resolve to keep my hands—and every other part of my body—to myself. Tessa’s paying the price for my idiocy, and that can’t be allowed to continue.
“Here’s the offer I’m willing to make, Rafe.” Scott actually pets his mustache. Go on, you bastard. Twirl it. Paint the ultimate picture of villainy. “Walk out of this building right now. You’re going to resign your position in the company, and you’re going to stay well clear of Brad and me. There’ll be the customary family gatherings, you know, the holidays and so on.” Scott is on the verge of salivating, I can feel it. “You’ll need a fresh dose of humiliation now and again. But you’re out of McCarthy Pharma, forever. And if I find out you’re in contact with Ms. Snowe, she’ll be out of a job. And.” He brandishes the pictures from Brad. “We’ve got a few friends on Page Six of the Post who’d love to get their hands on these. Drunk, worthless playboy so desperate for pussy he starts fucking the help?” He turns his gaze to Tessa, which makes me want to grab a pen off the desk and jam it into his eyeball. “That’ll get all of Manhattan laughing.”
I’m primed for action. But if I make a move right now, or so much as say the wrong thing, he’s going to take it out on her.
Tessa, meanwhile, has been staring at her shoes with her hands folded in front of her. She’s not panicking. Hell, I think she’s an even better actor than I am if she’s listening to this and not silently imploding.
“Despite fucking in public parks, I get the feeling you’re not quite the exhibitionist. Are you?” Scott grins when Tessa says nothing. “I imagine you’d hate for the country to see this kind of salacious content. You’d have to be let go, of course. Believe me, Ms. Snowe, I can make it difficult for you to be employed anywhere else. I will make it harder than you can imagine.”
It is a testament to how dire this situation is that I’m not tempted in the slightest to crack wise about his word choice right now.
“So, Rafe. Up to you. Do you want to stay here and fight on without your secretary?” Scott curls his lip at me.
“Actually, they want to be called personal assistants these days,” Brad says, helpful as fucking ever. I think Tessa, Scott, and I all roll our eyes a little simultaneously.
“If I do what you ask, what happens to Tessa?” I mutter.
“She stays in a job here. Seems like her worst offense was fucking you. I don’t think we need to worry about any other insurrections. Tessa doesn’t have the capacity to plan a mutiny all on her own, after all.” Wrong, motherfucker, but I keep my mouth shut. “This is a terrible time to be out of work, and I’m generous.
“Rafe. It’s your choice. Your position, or Ms. Snowe.”
Tessa doesn’t say anything, but she glances at me. She gives a resigned nod of her head. I realize what she’s thinking: that I have to keep working at these assholes, that I have to somehow dethrone Scott and do good for someone other than my shareholders. That she’s
not worth the sacrifice of all those plans.
But these last few days have neatly demonstrated how little my schemes and plans matter without something specific to care for. And now I have that, for the first time in my damn life.
I need to take care of Tessa, which means I have to let her go.
“All right.” I shrug effortlessly, an action that belies how much this is going to kill me. “I’m out.”
Seventeen
Tessa
“What?” The word tumbles from my mouth before I can think. Not that any of the men in this room are paying attention to me: they’re too busy engaging in an eye-fuck, dick-measure contest. Even Rafe’s tuned me out.
“I’m out,” he repeats to Scott. He rounds the desk and slides into his coat. His face is blank, his body relaxed. You’d think he was going for an early lunch, not leaving all of his plans and goals—and me—on the table. As he passes out the door, he doesn’t even pause to look at me.
That leaves me to the creepy staring mercy of Scott and Brad, each wearing a proud little smile. My body goes cold as I feel Brad’s gaze prodding me. Like it’s trying to get under my clothes. I want to shout at these men, or at least throw Rafe’s desk telephone at them. But histrionics aren’t really my way. Instead, I clear my throat and all but curtsy as I murmur, “Excuse me.”
Quickly, I turn around and walk out after Rafe. I’ve got to be ready to go with him. He’s not leaving me here, with two of the worst humans on earth and my salary and my 401k and my health insurance and…
I slow down as I consider all of this. My shoes echo on the tile as I hit the elevator block. Rafe’s still here, thankfully, and looks up at me. All I need to see is the fire in his eyes that says he’s going to fight on, even if it’s not here. Barring that, I’d like to hear him curse Scott out and say something like “I’ll be back for you” to me as the elevator doors close between us. You know. Something dramatic and sexy at the same time.
This isn’t the time for jokes, though.
Because all I see in Rafe’s expression is distance. When I take a step nearer, he edges away. His entire body is closed off.
That’s the most depressing thing of all. He’s put up the barricades and is waving the flag of “Sorry, Tessa. No intimacy.”
“You can’t leave like this,” I say. You can’t leave me like this.
“I’ve seen what he does to people when he’s got them in his sights. He’ll destroy your life, and it’ll be my fault.” Rafe’s black gaze levels coolly with mine. “You’d hate me for it. You think you wouldn’t, but you have no idea.”
“Please. I’m not afraid of him.” That’s a lie; Scott McCarthy makes me want to run screaming down twenty flights of stairs and out through the cafeteria, pausing only to grab one of those cinnamon buns that I really shouldn’t eat but are delicious.
One of us, though, has to be stupidly brave right now. The fact that it’s me should terrify everyone. Rafe is the schemer, the corporate man. What am I? The assistant. How can I possibly be more than that? “This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”
“This is my fault.” He winces, but only briefly. Other than that, he’s wearing his trademark Business Smolder. “I lowered my guard with you, Tessa. I let you in because I was too weak to do the right thing. You shouldn’t want to be with someone like me in the first place.”
Yes, because what woman in her right mind wants a six-foot-two, handsome, intelligent, witty, strong-willed, fearless, Krav Maga-trained, essentially decent visionary who wants to make a difference and is also mind-blowingly good in bed?
I’m having an aneurysm just thinking about it.
As the elevator doors open and Rafe steps inside, my hands start to tremble. I know this feeling: it’s abandonment. Another person I trust—hell, that I love—is leaving me. He’s not doing it for selfish reasons, sure. But whether it’s a drunk driver or Scott McCarthy, it seems like everything good and safe in my life gets snatched away.
“Please don’t leave me here.” My own voice sounds hollow. I’m not going to beg, but I might try fainting. I’ve never done it before; first time for everything.
A flicker of something like misery crosses Rafe’s face, but then it’s gone. “I’m sorry you’re being disappointed again.”
And with that, the doors close and I’m about to start dry heaving. Don’t cry. Think about Taisa. How would she handle something like this?
Then, my personal Jiminy Cricket conscience voice shows up in my ear to whisper, Taisa isn’t real. Fantasy is just that: fantasy. There’s no true love, no hero riding in to stop the villain. Also, Jiminy Cricket as your conscience? It’s such a cliché. What are you, five?
That was not the most helpful my conscience has ever been. Maybe I should’ve tried dialing up my libido; at least there’s a lot of Goth anthem rock in that department.
I finally screw my head back on straight and realize that Scott and Brad have been standing there watching me for… Do I want to know how long? Probably not.
“That’s always been Rafe’s way, to leave when a problem becomes too difficult.” Scott clicks his tongue, sampling my disappointment like a fine wine. “Don’t worry. We’ll put you to actual work now.”
“Why don’t you just fire me?” I straighten my shoulders and look him in the eye. There’s no way this man’s really going to keep me on. To my surprise, though, he shrugs.
“Primarily because Rafe will suffer much, much more if he has to imagine what’s happening to you every day.”
Wow. That was some Lex Luthor coldness. He needs a white Persian cat to stroke.
“And if I decide to leave?” I’m crazy to be doing this—I really need this job. But I’m not going to let the last few drops of my self-respect go without some kind of fight. Weirdly, this seems to delight Scott.
“The pictures go to the Post. I use my connections to make your life hell.” He sighs. “And all after Rafe sacrificed everything for you. That’s ingratitude.”
Even if I didn’t have my family to consider, I can’t let Rafe’s (stupid, stupid) decision be for nothing. There are so many off-color things I’d like to say to Scott McCarthy, but I bite my tongue. He’s not done with me, though.
“You’re more attractive when you’re indignant. Less mousy.” His eyes scrutinize me, and I can see he finds me lacking. “More Rafe’s taste, though. I’ve lost the appetite for working-class blondes.”
I realize that there’s something about this that he enjoys. He’s willing to play cat and mouse with a harmless, small-time assistant just because it gives him pleasure.
Rafe was right. These people are monsters.
They need to be sent packing.
Unfortunately, though, with Rafe gone there’s only me left. I’ve got no power, no control, no money, and no status.
The Scott McCarthys of the world will never see me as a threat.
“After you finish my correspondence, I have some other jobs for you.” Brad leans against my new desk, his pelvis shoved out. I swear he’s deliberately angling it so his crotch is nearly in my face. “I think you’ll have to stay late tonight.”
“Of course, Mr. McCarthy.” I’ve adopted my cheerful robot voice for this new position. Yes, I’m Brad’s new assistant. His old one left recently, because apparently he’s less than a gentleman. Who’d have guessed?
Brad leans close and whispers in my ear. “Did you still call him ‘Mr. McCarthy’ while you were fucking him?”
I let the image of taking off my shoe and plunging the heel into Brad’s groin come and go. “No. We were on a first-name basis, Mr. McCarthy.”
He snorts. “Dumb cooze.”
Charmant, as my high school French teacher would say. She also doubled as our PE teacher for self-defense class. Taught me how to knee a creep in the balls quite nicely.
“I don’t see us getting out of here ‘til seven, at least.” Brad walks behind my chair, leaning against it. I don’t let him know I’m sweating.
“Of course
. We’ll need to finalize the guest list for the holiday party anyway. No time like the present.” I’m typing away when Brad’s hand lands on my shoulder, and squeezes. My fingers hover over my keyboard. Jesus, he starts massaging my shoulder.
“You’re real tight.” The way he says it is off-putting to say the least. Clearing my throat, I “accidentally” roll my chair backwards and into his crotch. He curses, and I pull myself closer to my desk. “I think I’ll make you stay ‘til eight,” he snaps.
Great. More overtime. But I don’t say that.
“In that case, may I call my sister?” I peer over my shoulder at him. “I was supposed to babysit tonight, but she’ll have to make other plans.”
Brad snorts, his cheeks flaming with humiliation. That must happen a lot. “Whatever. Go ahead.”
I feel him watching me as I dial. While I listen to the phone ring, he snatches my wrist and pulls the phone from my ear. “What the hell?” I snap.
All he sees on the screen is BECCA. Right on time, my sister picks up. “Hello? Tess?” Her voice sounds tinny, and Brad lets me go. He seems almost sheepish.
“Making sure,” he mutters, and retreats into his office. Rolling my eyes, I take my call.
“Hey. Something’s come up.” I refrain from peering over my shoulder and into Brad’s office. Don’t want to arouse suspicion. “I know you were going on a date tonight. What would you say to making it an afternoon thing?”
Like I said, the Scott McCarthys of the world will never see me as a threat. Which means they’ll never notice me move against them. With Rafe gone, I’m the one who has to take charge of this situation.
And I set my own little scrap of a plan in motion.
Eighteen
Rafe
When I was a kid, I used to dream about running away to live at the zoo. I had this stupid idea that I’d move into the lions’ pen and become their new human king. Maybe I watched The Lion King too many times. Or was it The Jungle Book? This is why you shouldn’t let TV babysit your kids. Point is, there’s a metaphor in there somewhere: a kid from a whole other species wants to live with dangerous predators and rule them, but gets shown the door by the zookeeper for his trouble.
